


it's okay to have fears

by assassinactual



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:12:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2832770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassinactual/pseuds/assassinactual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You receive an email from your dad asking if you’re dating this Carmilla girl you’re always talking about, if it’s serious, and if she has any plans for Christmas. (You answer: yes, you hope so, and you’re not sure if she celebrates Christmas but will ask her.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's okay to have fears

**Author's Note:**

> (This was mostly written way back before the last couple episodes, so it might diverge from canon a bit maybe. Also, Laura is Canadian. Because. Title from Christmas TV by Slow Club.)

* * *

The winter’s first snow is falling in fat, fluffy flakes outside your window, and Carmilla is curled up around you as you sit on your bed with your laptop balanced on your knees. You’re supposed to be working on your Lit paper, but the weather and your girlfriend keep distracting you.

You allow your mind to wander to an email you received from your dad last week asking if you’re dating this Carmilla girl you’re always talking about, if it’s serious, and if she has any plans for Christmas. (You answered: yes, you hope so, and you’re not sure if she celebrates Christmas but will ask her.)

This is when you decide that she **_is_** coming home for Christmas with you, and that if your relationship is serious enough to face ancient evil vampires together, it’s serious enough to introduce her to your dad.

Just one problem: convincing Carmilla to come with you.

You determine the best approach is to take it slow rather than jump right in to asking her to go home with you. You’re proven correct when you first ask her if she celebrates Christmas. You expect, and get, a rant about commercialization of the holiday. But you still chalk it up as a success, because once she’s wound down you chip in with: “Yeah, it should be about spending time with your family, the people you love. I mean, it sure would be nice if we could spend Christmas together.” You rush it a bit, but manage to get it all out clearly.

You turn back to your computer after that, and pretend to be busy to hide your blush, and your goofy smile. You’ve actually said the words to her directly a few times now, but it still catches you off guard how much you really do feel it.

* * *

 

Over the next couple days, you continue dropping not-so-subtle hints. The flight booking website with two passengers selected that you bring whenever she’s looking in the direction of your computer is your cleverest one, you think.

She listens with rapt attention when you tell her of past Christmases with your father, and even shares a few stories from her childhood.

Things don’t entirely as planned, though. An innocuous question she asks while you’re telling the tale of The Great Christmas Tree Hunt of ’04 leads to you remembering the last Christmas you’d had with your mother. She apologizes profusely, even after you assure her you don’t blame her.

She spends the rest of the night holding you and wiping away your tears. When she thinks you aren’t looking, you catch a familiar faraway look in her eyes and wonder if she is remembering the family she lost so long ago.

* * *

 

A few days later, you ask her. By the time you’ve finished speaking, her eyes are fixed on the wall behind you, and she’s fiddling with her hands nervously.

“I don’t think that’s best idea, cupcake. I don’t really do Christmas.” There’s something in her voice that tells you she’s not being entirely honest with you. “Hey, you want to go try that new sushi place you were telling me about?”

You see right through her attempted distraction, and you’re sure she knows it. You go along with it, though. You can see how disappointed she is with herself, and you can’t stand to see that look on her face.    

* * *

 

The second attempt doesn’t go any better.

“I can’t, okay. I’ve got – things to do. Vampire stuff. Just forget about it.” With that, she storms out of the room. You aren’t sure if you imagined her small, whispered _‘please’_ as she left.

* * *

 

It’s getting close to the point when you’ll have to book a flight while there’s still seats left in your price range. You’ve found several deals that would be ideal if you were planning to travel alone, but can’t force yourself to commit to any of them. You’re still hoping you can convince Carmilla to come.

You’ve been searching through flights all day, quietly grumbling about confusing websites and prices in different currencies. You’re just about ready to toss the computer out the window when a credit card drops onto the keyboard. You turn and come face to face with Carmilla.

“If I’m going to be stuck in a tin can for half a day I at least want some legroom, so book us something first class, okay? A window seat would be nice too.”

You’re stunned into silence for a moment, because _of course_ after making such a fuss when you asked her she so casually agrees.

She’s turning away, drifting back over to her bed. So you call her name, then with a gentle hand on her cheek, guide her in for a quick kiss. It’s the only sort of thanks she’ll accept without flippantly brushing off. You’ll also never get enough of that look on her face after you’ve kissed her: slightly dazed, a hint of a smile, and her eyes half-closed, savouring the moment.

Later that night, you're cuddling with Carmilla in her bed. You're almost asleep; she's just staring alternately at your face and the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. You finally voice something that has bothered you all evening.

"Carm? Why didn't you want to come? If it's because you don't want to fly or something, then it's okay. I don't want to push you into doing something that makes you uncomfortable."

"It's fine. Don't worry about, okay? It's not anything important. I was just being silly."

You do worry about it, because her definition of what's important tends to be a bit skewed.

"Just talk to me about it, please? When I made you promise to tell me stuff, I didn't just mean about evil things that are trying to kill us. I want you to tell me about things that are bothering you too. That's important to me. You're important to me."

There's a part of your mind that thinks this is far too sappy and cliché, but mostly you're too tired to care. If Carmilla is thinking something along those lines, she doesn't show it. She just smiles and kisses you on the cheek.

"I'll tell you about it tomorrow, okay?"

"Promise?" you mumble. You're struggling to keep your eyes open.

"Laura. Go to sleep."

This satisfies you. Even now, she rarely uses your name. Her saying it is a good as, or maybe better than, an actual promise. You mumble out something like ‘okay’, then let yourself snuggle a bit closer to Carmilla and sink into the warm, fuzzy feeling of sleep.

* * *

 

When you wake up, she’s waiting for you with an easy smile and a steaming mug of overly sweetened coffee, just the way you like it. She gives you a peck on the cheek and passes you the mug. It takes a few minutes and several sips of coffee to notice it.

Things between the two of you seem more relaxed somehow. Like some tension you hadn’t realized was there has disappeared.

Carmilla’s sitting in your chair, idly spinning around. Usually she would either be crawling back into bed to sleep some more, or running off to do ‘vampire things’. You guess she’s waiting for you to ask her about what you tried to talk about last night, but it doesn’t seem so pressing now. She did promise she would, in her own way, and you don’t want to needlessly push her.

On your way to the bathroom, you spin her around to face you.

“Are you doing anything tonight after class?” She shakes her head, so you ask: “Wanna just stay in and watch some movies? I shouldn’t have any homework.”

She gives you a wide smile. “Sounds great, cupcake.” You smile back and return her peck on the cheek before rushing off to complete your morning routine.

You’re happy because you know at some point talking is going to happen, and a night cuddling with Carmilla on one of your tiny beds is always something to look forward to.

* * *

 

The two of you are sitting wrapped up in your blankets on your bed. You’ve watched your movies and it’s nearing the time you should be going to sleep, when Carmilla (with some gentle coaxing) finally opens up about what had been bothering her.

“The big badass vampire is scared of meeting my dad?” You’re having a bit of trouble believing _this_ was her big problem.

“Laura! I’m being serious.” You immediately regret being flippant upon seeing the hurt look on her face. You squeeze her hand and turn her face towards yours with the lightest pressure on her cheek.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t get it. I mean, he’s just my dad.”

“That’s what scares me. He’s _your_ dad. You love him, and look up to him, and what’s he going to think of me?”

“Sweetie, he’s going to love you. _I_ love you, and he’s going to see that and try to get to know you better. You just need to let him see some of the real you are under all the –” you make a vague sort of hand gesture towards her “– sarcasm and leather.”

“Are you suggesting we put on another puppet show?” You wonder if she’s ever going to let you forget about that. Probably not.

“No. He’s doesn’t need to know everything about you. Just let him see some of the wonderful, witty woman who cares about me so much that I see every day. I know opening up isn’t easy for you, but I’ll be right there with you, okay?”

“Okay.”

And that’s it. Even though she’s inexplicably terrified of meeting your father, she’s still going to do it, just because you asked her.

You _know_ how she feels about you. She fought her evil mother for you and agreed to be your girlfriend, so it’s pretty obvious. But it still amazes you that she cares about you so much that she worries what you father will think of her. It amazes you that this woman who has lived so long and seen so much chose _you_ , plain old Laura Hollis.

You realize just a bit too late that you said some of that aloud.

“Of course I chose you, you idiot. I love you.”

* * *

 

The next few weeks are hectic, a blur of exams and staying to ridiculous hours studying. You hardly have any time with Carmilla when one or both of you isn’t sleeping.

You’re counting down the days until your last exam, but it still sneaks up on you. Suddenly, there’s only two days left, and you haven’t even finished your pre-packing checklist.

You try, and fail, to convince Carmilla to pack more than her small backpack (“I like to travel light, buttercup.”) and take something warmer than her usual leather jacket. (“I spent time in Norway before they invented electric heating, I think I’ll be fine.”) You end up using your largest suitcase, and pack enough for both of you.

When you’re leaving and she effortlessly carries your huge suitcase out the door, you begin to suspect that was her plan from the start.

* * *

 

The good news: you managed to book a direct flight, which both leaves and arrives at reasonable times, from Vienna to Toronto.

The bad news: the only flight _to_ Vienna is at six in the morning.

This isn’t so much a problem for Carmilla – she just stayed awake all night. You, however, do not deal well with being dragged out of a warm, cosy bed into a mad rush to get ready and go to the airport. And it always is a rush, even when you’ve calculated the maximum time everything could possibly take and ordered Carmilla to have you awake no later than four.

Luckily, you’re able to nap enough that you’re mostly functional by the time you land in Vienna. Otherwise you would’ve missed your next flight due to Carmilla sleeping through the boarding announcement.

* * *

 

Carmilla throws a minor temper tantrum when she discovers the ‘short hop’ from Toronto to the regional airport near your hometown will in fact take two hours. Your reminder that you printed a full itinerary for her last week does not help matters. Nor does seeing the small turboprop you’ll be flying on.

You calm her down, though, and get onto the plane without causing a scene or being arrested by security.

She spends most of the flight grumbling under her breath in German. What you catch is mostly obscenities directed at the plane, the pilots, and the airline. Once or twice she curses herself for letting you talk her into this. (You definitely don’t giggle a bit at that. Not at all.)

For all her complaining, you can tell she isn’t really in distress. Other than during a couple bumps during takeoff her grip on your hand has been loose, and she’s been mostly relaxed.

Unlike at the big airports, it takes all of fifteen minutes from the time you land until Carmilla is pulling your suitcase off the conveyor.

You spot your dad leaning against the wall next to the car rental counter and point him out to Carmilla.

“You ready?” She hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, but you notice. “Come on, it can’t go any worse than when I met your mother. He probably won’t even try to possess you.”

“How reassuring.” She takes a deep breath, then grabs you hand, leading the way through the small crowd around the baggage carousel.

Your dad looks exactly like you remember him. You briefly wonder if he sees the same Laura he said goodbye to four months ago. But then you’re running the last few steps towards you and throwing your arms around him.

Once you separate, you introduce your girlfriend, Carmilla. You notice his eyes lingering on the _‘Laura’s vampire girlfriend – do NOT stake’_ sticker you’d jokingly applied to her jacket weeks ago and are afraid for a second he’s going to start asking questions. You _do not_ want to have the ‘so my girlfriend is a vampire isn’t that neat’ conversation in the middle of the airport. Carmilla must have noticed too, because she subtly moves the strap of her bag to cover the nametag, then distracts him with a firm handshake.

“It’s so nice to meet you Mr Hollis. Laura’s told me so much about you.” She sounds sincere, but it’s so uncharacteristically polite for her that you can’t help but roll your eyes at her. When your dad glances over at a TV tuned to the Weather Network, Carmilla sticks her tongue out at you.

“Well, come on girls. We best get out of here before that blizzard really hits.” He tries to take Laura’s suitcase from Carmilla, but Carmilla insists. “Polite and chivalrous. She’s quite a catch, isn’t she?”

“Yes dad, she’s like this all the time.”

He nods approvingly, just as oblivious to your sarcasm as ever.

* * *

 

Carmilla’s sprawled out across the back seat of your dad’s car, sound asleep, by the time you pull into the garage. Jet lag and not sleeping for a day and a half caught up with her hard. Just like you warned her it would. (“Pfft, I’ll be fine. Sleep is for the living.”) You get her out of the car with promises that she can go right back to sleep in your warm, comfy bed, then have to practically drag her upstairs.

After you tuck her in and give her a kiss on the forehead, you head back downstairs. You’re tired, but not quite ready to sleep yet. You find yourself wandering into the living room, lit up by the Christmas tree and the orange glow of streetlights reflecting off falling snow.

It’s not long before you dad sits down beside you and hands you a cup of cocoa. You chat about inconsequential things, catch up on what’s been going on around town. It’s normal and familiar and exactly the kind of thing you’ve been missing for the last few months.

Eventually, you cocoa is gone, your eyelids are drooping, and you’re considering just letting yourself fall asleep on the couch when you receive a text message. _You lied. The bed is cold and you’re not in it._

Your dad laughs when you explain you’ve been summoned. He takes your empty mug and shoos you away. You give him one more hug before running upstairs to deal with your girlfriend.

Your last thought as you’re falling asleep with Carmilla in your arms is that it really feels good to be home.

* * *

 

When you wake up the next morning, your body’s clock is telling you it must be nearing noon even though the sun hasn’t quite risen yet. You lay there, cocooned in the warmth of your blankets and Carmilla, watching the blazing orange light of dawn outside you window fade away.

The smell of coffee and bacon finally draws you out. You manage to wriggle out of Carmilla’s grasp, but fail to get any response out of her beyond a mumbled ‘ _no’_ and pulling the blankets back over her head.

“Morning, sweetie,” your dad greets you as you enter the kitchen. He’s in front of the stove, working on breakfast. You give him a quick hug, careful to avoid being splattered by bacon grease. There is a slight difference from your usual weekend morning routine though: beside your coffee is another empty mug. You take a large gulp of your coffee, burning yourself, then take the mug your dad left out for Carmilla over to the fridge to fill it with blood. (You smuggled that through the airport disguised as saline solution. It was Carmilla’s idea, and you’re still wondering how it actually succeeded.) “Doesn’t she like coffee?”

“Oh, she’ll drink it. She just likes to start the day off with her, uh, protein slurry.”

“Protein slurry?”

You whip around upon hearing Carmilla’s sleepy voice, almost spilling the mug of blood you just filled.

Carmilla stumbling into the kitchen sleepily rubbing at her eyes and dressed in your sweatpants and an old high school hoodie might be the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. You wish you had a camera with you to record this moment.

You press the mug of blood into her hands and she takes several large gulps before she realizes your dad is right there. She raises an eyebrow at you and nods towards him. You just shrug in response. You’re not too worried about him finding out Carmilla’s a vampire. He’ll probably accept it just fine, and it’s bound to happen eventually. If it hasn’t already – you still aren’t sure if he’s watched your videos or not.

(You also want her to feel welcome and at home here, and part of that is not having to hide herself.)

Carmilla accepts your blasé attitude, and goes back to drinking her blood.

* * *

 

When you head out later that afternoon, Carmilla insists she’ll be fine in just her leather jacket. You let her stand outside shivering for a good five minutes before dragging her back in and digging out something more appropriate.

Now, she’s bundled up in some of your old winter gear. Coincidentally, everything you found was all a matching shade of eye-searing pink. You think it looks adorable, and tell her this.

She makes a cute pouty face at this, and you snap another photo with your new iPhone. (An early Christmas gift from your dad. He decided that your judgement could be trusted, and that being able to keep in touch with you better was worth the risk. You keep the old phone though, just in case you’re ever taken captive in an underground lair again and need to call for help.)

“You better not be sending that to the amazon.”

“I’m not,” you reply with a cheeky smile. “I sent the last one to her. This one is going to LaF.”

* * *

 

Once you’ve kissed away Carmilla’s pout, you take her on a tour of town. It’s short tour, obviously, but she listens intently to you and surprisingly keeps the sarcastic commentary to a minimum. (Though she does put on an incredibly thick and impressively terrible accent when you run into a couple of your dad’s friends who confuse Austria with Australia.)

You end up in the park, where an abbreviated snowball fight leads to the two of you rolling around in the snow and more kissing. When you come up for air, the sun is getting low, and you’re both cold and wet. So you jump up out of the snow, then pull Carmilla up and run all the way home. Luckily, it’s not far. Nothing in town is, really.

You both collapse back against the front door as soon as you’re inside. Carmilla’s panting just as hard as you are from the run. (You wonder if she really needs to, or just does it out of habit or what, but file that away in the questions to be asked later when we’re not having a moment file in your mind.)

“I had fun today, cupcake.”

You’re captivated by her. She’s always beautiful, of course. Sometimes adorable, even if she’d deny it. But just _something_ about her now, her wide grin, her cheeks so rosy they’re almost glowing, her bangs plastered to her forehead, that’s making your heart beat even faster. You think she can hear it, and the tiny twist in her grin and the twinkle in her eyes pretty much confirms it. She doesn’t say anything though, just sits there, her face a couple inches away from yours and stares at you.

Then, she bumps her nose against yours and jumps up. She takes a few steps down the hall, then pauses, and says: “You might want to get out of that coat, cutie. Wouldn’t want you getting too _hot_.”

Once your blush has calmed down and your coat is hung up, you make your way into the living room. Carmilla’s already there, arranging wood in the fireplace which she then ignites by glaring at it. You spend the rest of the afternoon curled up with her in front of the roaring fire, until your dad calls you to help with dinner.

(Carmilla lends a hand too, even after your dad repeatedly tells her she doesn’t have to because she’s a guest.)

* * *

 

Carmilla is less than pleased when you drag her out of bed early on Christmas morning. She hides under your old red hoodie that she’s claimed for her own and refuses to speak to you until your dad gets up about half an hour later.

It doesn’t take her long to unwrap her handful of presents. She gives you a quick thank you kiss after opening your gift to her, then cuddles up beside you with a content smile.

Eventually, your dad leaves to make coffee, and when he returns he’s carrying a gift bag.

“I almost forgot about this. For you, Carmilla.” She looks a bit surprised as she takes the bag, and her eyes widen even more after looking inside. She carefully takes out an old looking leather bound book. You peak at the cover while she’s leafing through it, recognizing neither the title nor the author. She pulls herself out of the book after a moment, and looks up at your dad.

“Thank you.” You’ve rarely seen her say something so sincere. She looks kind of amazed, and while you’re not sure why exactly this book means so much, you hope it will help reassure her that you dad honestly likes her.

* * *

 

You’re laying on the couch with your head in Carmilla’s lap after eating far too much turkey. Your dad went to bed after the new Doctor Who Christmas episode ended. You’ve been in this position for the last half hour, watching a re-run of The Christmas Invasion while occasionally falling into a fuzzy half sleep. You think you just asked Carmilla if she likes your dad, but it’s possible you dreamed that.

“He’s alright, I guess.”

It’s probably the most positive thing you’ve heard her say about anybody that isn’t you.

You feel yourself slipping more towards sleep and away from wakefulness as she starts lightly massaging your scalp and running her fingers through your hair.

“Laura.” She waits while you turn your head to face her. You feel so heavy and sleepy, but it sounds like she has something important to say. “I – I’m glad you made me come home with you.”

You scoff. “Made you?”

“Hush. You were right about your dad.” She’s staring right at the TV when she says this. She really does hate admitting when she’s wrong. “He’s really made me feel welcome, like I’m part of the family.”

You slip back into sleep again with a goofy smile on your face.

“You are part of the family, silly,” you mutter when you come back around to being slightly more awake.

Carmilla bends down, a bit awkwardly, to plant a kiss on your forehead. “I love you,” she whispers, just barely audible.

“’ve y’too, Carm.”


End file.
